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At last week's Jackson House fundraising event I learned that Central Ave in Tampa was considered the Harlem of the South. Mind = Blown. Because that spot right there? As it is today? How? When? Because the infestation of gentrification did what it came to do....and I guess its death knell rang in the echo's of Harlem cultural dissipation in NYC (disclaimer: Harlem is still there of course, just nowhere near what it used to be before the floods came in....) Unfortunately, all

Fat, moist, and trembling pushing out sounds that shouldn't be uttered but the voice heard is 'in charge' ripping into tender flesh stolen plans inflated outcomes misaligned results terrifying in its descent the last check mama ain't mention this... an open wound that can't be filled by dollar signs and what comes next is more than sorrow swallowed whole by a bureaucratic appetite crumbs that disappear in the jowls of assimilation Digested but still in progress lost adrift in

Some journeys, though taken alone, still require an audience. Mind you--to share the share the gravity of the occurrence, not to prove an existence. because even if a tree falls and no one saw it or heard it, the tree knew. Eye-level view of a cozy writing nook with a vintage typewriter

Pick it up! Now put it right back down. Can't think up unseen realities when restricted--by necessity--to putting hands on the here and now. Drawing from the well of life's tragedies and inspirations often reaps a dissatisfied gasp of brokenness--and regaining equilibrium means first inhaling what was given and then letting survival have its way in exhalation as the sun goes down on yet. another. day. Hope ain't in sunrise or rainbows--there is just a daunting awareness of le